He turned to step a few steps closer, leaning forward, straining to see into the trailer. “DAY-um, though, who’s the fine-as-wine rock star honey over there with your damsel in distress?”
“Her sister. Lexie.” I debated telling him what Charlie had told me, but decided against it; let it play out naturally.
“Well. Donotlet them go before I have a chance to say hi to that gorgeous piece’a sinfulness.”
I laughed. “You fuckin’ dog.”
“I just wanna say hi. She looks like a firecracker.”
I chuckled. “I only met her briefly, but I’d say that’s about right. I don’t know her from Adam, but from what I can tell, I’d step careful around that one.”
He shook out his hands, ran wordless notes up to the top of his range and down to the bottom. Grinned at me again. “A challenge. I like it.”
I shoved him toward the stage. “Get out there and break legs, Myles. Focus on the music for now, yeah?”
“Break a leg is theater, you idiot.”
I laughed. “No, I know. I meant your own.”
He flipped me off as he jogged backward on stage, and then the moment he hit the open stage, he spun around, lifting his hands over his head. The crowd went wild, deafening. Jupiter was thudding a steady rhythm on the kicker, Brand letting his fingers stroll around the bass frets, running low rolling licks to weave around Jupiter’s kick drum. Zan let his Les Paul fade up into shrieking feedback as I brought Myles his guitar for the opening trio of numbers. Handed it to him, cuffing him affectionately on the back of the head as he shrugged the strap on, wiggled his shoulders, plucked the pick from the strings, winked at me, and then strode to the front edge of the stage, and his mic.
“Weeeeeeeeeell howdy, Illinois,” he shouted, drawling his accent into a thick South Texas twang. “Are you beautiful drunk motherfuckers having a good time out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Tens of thousands of gathered country music fans screamed and howled, the already deafening roar cranking up to a bone-rattling din.
“IthinkI heard you,” Myles said, then paused to rifle off a quick, light, flicking riff. “But I got a feelin’ ya’ll can do better. ISAID—are you beautiful drunk-ass country music lovin’ motherfuckersHAVING A GOOD FUCKIN’ TIME?” This last phrase he shouted into the mic.
The noise was nearly unbearable, now, but Myles goaded them again. Another riff, this one longer, more complex.
“I CAN’T FUCKIN’HEARYOU!”
Louder, and now the kick drum went faster as they transitioned seamlessly into the opening notes of the first song, a snare tap-tap-tapping, Zan laying a smooth chug, Brand thumping a steady chord, and Myles playfully toying with riffs, turning them gradually, masterfully, into the lead melody.
“Okay, I believe you, now,” he said, his voice quieter, lower. “This is a fun little song, you may have heard it before. It’s called ‘I Can’t Lie’.”
The din of the crowd, which had been dying down, went nuts again.
And then he was off, rattling away the machine-gun-quick, not-quite rapped lyrics of the verse, and then Zan and Brand joined him at the mic to harmonize on the bridge, and then Zan and Myles played dueling riffs through the chorus, just Myles singing, using that low smooth baritone like he was promising every woman in the crowd the best night of her life.
Damn, the man was on fire. The band was always hot, but they drew off of Myles, and he was flying high tonight, ramped up and amped up, hitting every note, turning every solo into straight fire.
About halfway through the set, I glanced offstage as I tweaked the tuning of the next guitar—Lexie was clearly enraptured, eyes fixed on Myles, whom she could see in perfect profile.
Yeah, she had it bad. And judging by the way Myles looked right at her between songs, he was feelin’ it too.
That oughta be interesting. Charlie had said Lexie chewed up most men for breakfast, but my little secret was that Myles was just about the same. I knew he set them straight on the way things were before anything happened, so they knew it was just fun for the night, but still he had a way of leaving half-broke hearts wherever he went, each new nightly conquest wishing she could be the one to tame the wild thing that was Myles North’s bronco soul.
I wondered, though, if just maybe Lexie Goode could be the one to pull off that impossible feat. She’d struck me as every bit as wild, every bit as mare strong and mule stubborn and peacock proud.
What do you get when two wildfires met?
Crazy hell, that’s what.
I rubbed my jaw, turned my attention back to the guitar. Brought it to Myles at the correct moment, and returned side stage to my little area.
And noticed Charlie was awake, somehow, sitting up.
Staring at me.
